“Our children will be clever and accomplished, I have no doubt. But you? You’ll be left here, nursing your broken heart in the shadows.”
Marguerite arched an eyebrow, stepping forward without the slightest hesitation. The intimidating air Fiona had tried to project shattered in an instant—Marguerite’s presence blazing right through it.
Her gaze was sharp as a blade, cutting straight to Fiona’s core. Fiona’s bravado faltered; her chest tightened, panic rising despite her efforts to stand her ground.
The longer Marguerite stared at her, the more Fiona felt herself unravel, as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart, making it hard to breathe.
“Don’t come any closer!” Fiona’s voice rang out, trying to sound fierce but trembling at the edges. “If you lay a finger on me, Ben will never forgive you!”
Marguerite just let out a cold laugh, watching as Fiona stumbled back two steps and nearly lost her footing.
With lightning reflexes, Marguerite reached out and caught Fiona by the wrist, steadying her before she could fall.
“Don’t you think people stop believing in the same old act after a while?”
Her voice was icy, laced with contempt, as if she were watching a farce that had long since lost its entertainment value.
Without another word, she let go of Fiona, all but tossing her aside, and strode purposefully toward the office. Laura was already waiting at the door, eyes filled with worry and hope. As soon as she caught sight of Marguerite, she hurried forward to greet her.
The moment Benjamin heard Marguerite was back, he abandoned his car and raced upstairs, barely pausing to catch his breath before pushing open the office door.
There she was: Marguerite, already immersed in her work, her figure silhouetted by the afternoon light. The sight stopped him in his tracks, stirring memories of the company’s early days—when they’d fought side by side, scraping by, always promising themselves that once things calmed down and the weather turned nice, they’d take a little time off together.


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